


Postprandial

by shell_and_bone



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Banter, Belly Kink, Body Worship, Chubby Oswald Cobblepot, Fluff, Hand Feeding, Hand Jobs, Illustrated, M/M, PWP, Post-Canon, Post-Episode: s05e12, Praise Kink, Riddles, Stuffing, Teasing, Touch-Starved, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-23 17:20:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19155550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shell_and_bone/pseuds/shell_and_bone
Summary: After their run-in with Gotham’s new masked vigilante, Edward and Oswald slink off to a hotel, order a truly obscene amount of takeout, and make up for lost time.





	Postprandial

**Author's Note:**

> Just so we're all on the same page here, the content of this fic goes well beyond what is entailed by the 'body positivity' tag and ventures into outright fetishization in parts, which may be uncomfortable for some readers. Please heed the tags to make sure this is something you're into. Ed is a pervert, alright?
> 
> Check the endnotes for the illustration! Warning for visible genitals.

“Tomorrow?” Oswald swallowed hard as they watched the caped vigilante streak across the sky. 

“Tomorrow,” Ed agreed. 

At that, they set off into the night, keeping to the shade of alleys and overhangs, away from the wreck of the limo and in the opposite direction from the blaring sirens. Whatever dark forces had conspired his escape from Arkham, it wasn’t any of Ed’s concern. The haircut, the audacious outfit, and a case of C-4 explosives had done wonders to make Ed Nygma feel like himself again, but wandering the streets with Oswald was the first time he’d truly felt _free_. 

The city was much the same as when they’d left it. The major metropolitan areas had undergone heavy reconstruction after the bombings, but the sidestreets of Gotham were just as he remembered: dumpsters overflowing with refuse, rats scurrying underfoot, the city’s downtrodden curled up in sleeping bags and cardboard shelters under doorways and fire escapes. Once, Ed would have turned up his nose at the sight; he harboured no special attachment to the sordid underbelly of the city, not the way Oswald did. Tonight, there was no place he’d rather be.

“Barbara Kean? A redhead? You must be kidding!” Oswald’s laughter echoed through the empty alley, the spike of his umbrella tapping rhythmically against the concrete. A makeshift pilfered from a timid passerby after Oswald lost his usual cane during the fray. Still, he clung to Ed’s arm as they walked.

Ed nodded emphatically, his cheeks aching from smiling. “Would you believe it actually suits her?”

“And what about Jim Gordon?” Oswald leaned in closer, tilting his head up to meet his eyes. “Still a little damp, I would imagine? He’s lucky my aim isn’t what it used to be,” he added, adjusting his monocle.

Ed faced forward, focused on the lights up ahead where the alley opened out onto one of the main streets. As happy as he was to see Oswald, he could hardly stand to look at his damaged left eye—a bright, glaring reminder of everything that remained unaccounted between them, debts ten years overdue. “Will he press charges?” 

“I very much doubt it,” Oswald proclaimed. “Knowing him, he probably believes we’re even.” He laughed under his breath. “Of course, if he thinks he’s safe now that he’s taken a swim for locking me—ah, both of us away, he is tragically mistaken. Mark my words, Edward, when I get my hands on him again, I’ll—”

“You don’t look like you did too badly for yourself, all things considered,” Ed pointed out in an attempt to lighten the mood. 

As expected, flattery was still the key to Oswald’s heart. “Mn, you think so?” he preened, his face lighting up the same way it had in the limo when they first laid eyes on each other—a blush that started at the tips of his ears and extended all the way down to his softened jaw. Ed was tempted to lay a kiss there, to make up for lost time, but they were still technically in public, and when they reached the main street, Oswald let out a sharp gasp. 

“Look, Ed!” He lifted the umbrella to point at a sprawling building across the street over the slow column of traffic. “Didn’t that use to be the opera house?” 

Ed looked over to the new structure labelled ’Gotham City Convention Centre’, a glass and steel modernist construction starkly out of place with the surrounding architecture. Alongside it were a string of new upscale shops and restaurants he didn’t recognize, all similarly out of element. “Looks like they’ve redeveloped.”

Oswald gagged. “I hate it! Who the hell authorized this? Once I’ve reestablished my empire, remind me to broach a frank conversation with the current mayor about the importance of _cultural preservation._ ” 

“Do you even like opera?” Ed asked. 

“That’s beside the point. It’s an eyesore and I won’t have it in my city,” he said with a sneer. 

Ed’s gaze lingered on the building. “Six stories, easily over 110,000 square feet…” 

Oswald raised a curious eyebrow.

“Better idea.” Ed leaned in closer, a smile tugging at his cheeks. “My existence ensured by memory seared. I can only be made after you’ve disappeared. What am I?”

“Not now, Ed. You know I’m dreadfully out of practice.”

“A return,” he answered with a wink. “Mine, specifically. It would make an excellent venue for The Riddler’s grand reentrance to society. What do you think? Could be fun. Maybe a little game of ‘find-the-explosives’?”

“Only if you can refrain from dropping obvious hints.” Oswald rolled his eyes, then gently tugged at Ed’s elbow to pull them into the flow of pedestrians swarming the light-drenched boulevard. “But you just got out of Arkham. Isn’t it a little early to be planning a crime spree?”

“I’ve spent a decade doing nothing _but_ planning,” Ed replied, tapping his temple. “Come on, Oswald, don’t tell me that baloney you spouted on TV was true. Gotta say, I have a hard time picturing you sticking to the straight and narrow.”

Oswald laughed off the prospect with a dismissive wave, his hand lingering over Ed’s lapel. “On the contrary, my dear Edward. It’s actually not that hard to maintain a criminal empire behind bars if you work the right channels. Yes, my accounts were frozen, my assets seized, but do you seriously think I’d allow myself to be carted off to prison without a few nest eggs in place?” he explained, his eyes wide and mischievous in a way that belied his forty-some years. “And I expect the value of what I have left has only appreciated in the interim.”

“Never doubted it,” Ed lied, not about to admit just how many nights he’d spent drowning out the screams of Arkham Asylum’s intensive care ward with worries about how Oswald was faring at the penitentiary—obsessing, catastrophizing, running through every worst case scenario in his mind until he was consumed by images of Oswald beaten, maimed, otherwise abused… Ed suddenly wanted nothing more than to throw his arms around his old friend, kiss him breathless, and never let him go until the last of Arkham’s medicated fog lifted from his brain and he could truly accept that Oswald was safe, whole, and by his side again. He settled for a clap on the shoulder. As two flamboyantly dressed men with mugshots recently flashed on the nightly news, they were already drawing a legion of stares as they strode shamelessly down the main stretch of the Upper West Side. 

“That reminds me…” Oswald reached into his pocket and pulled out a cell phone. “I have my lawyer on call. I’m scheduled to meet with her in the morning. Since our ride to the safe house was derailed…”

“Secure alternate accommodations, gotcha.” Ed smiled and offered his arm again. “Shall we?”

Confident that the GCPD had their hands full, they made their way among the Gotham nightlife relatively unaccosted. Gasps and stolen glances rippled through the crowded plazas, but by and large, the civilians who recognized them would just as soon grant them a wide berth. Ed found it hard to pay them any mind with Oswald’s voice in his ear, laughing and reminiscing, taking stock of all that had changed in their absence—striking fashion trends, sleek new gadgets, the exotic music pulsing from the doors of nightclubs. Ed was practically buzzing with excitement at the thought of bringing himself up to date with the latest technology, his imagination running wild with half-formed plots and possibilities. He could have spent all night exploring the city, taking it all in, but Oswald was starting to drudge their pace. Though he seemed in excellent spirits, Ed could feel the hitch in his step worsening over the uneven pavement and the extra weight he was carrying now couldn’t have helped things. Right when Ed stooped to ask if he needed a break, Oswald pointed out their destination. 

The neon sign of the Gotham Royal Hotel was visible from a block away. “It’s weird, isn’t it? The only 5-star hotel in Gotham and I’ve never been inside. The moment I realized where we ended up, I thought ‘why the hell not’, right?”

Ed couldn’t argue with that. “First time for everything.”

The young man at the reception desk glanced up once from his books once when they strolled into the empty lobby, then a second time, considerably more alarmed. He threw up his hands instinctively as they approached. “Hi there!” Oswald chirped, causing the man to jolt. He took off his top hat with a flourish and planted it next to the service bell. “Just some weary travellers seeking a roof over our heads. We’ll take your finest suite available.” 

’Looming’ had never exactly been Oswald’s forte, but as he draped his elbows languidly over the marble, the young man could only stammer and take a step back. “You…! I recognize you from the news! You’re… you’re the, the—“

“That’s Mr. Penguin to you. Nice to meet you…”—he reached up to grab hold of the man’s name tag— “Kevin. Now, the card key, please.”

To Kevin’s credit, he put on a brave face. Ed caught his gaze flickering down to the security button doubtlessly hidden behind the desk. “But I know who you are! You may be a free man, but he…” His attention shifted to Ed. “He’s still supposed to be in Arkham. I could turn you both in!”

Oswald gasped in faux-shock. “Edward! Is that true? And you told me you had a day pass!”

“Oops, I lied. They revoked that privilege very early with me,” Ed replied, his eyes locked on Kevin, ready to spring into action if he made any sharp movements. 

Kevin hadn’t stopped rambling. “You can’t just walk in here with a lunatic fugitive and ask—“

Oswald gave a joyful scoff, shaking his head. In a flash of motion, he’d reached into his coat, drawn his pocket pistol from heaven knew where and had it trained at the boy’s chest. “There’s been a misunderstanding. I wasn’t asking.”

Kevin’s misplaced bravado shattered in an instant. He whimpered, a glimmer of sweat prickling at the line of his strawberry blonde hair. “H-how will you be paying tonight, sir?”

Oswald made a noncommittal gesture with the pistol. “Mn, haven’t quite got that sorted out yet. I assure you, my lawyer will be happy to settle the bill in the morning. I trust that will be fine?”

The boy nodded fervently. “Will you require one bed or two?”

A pause. Oswald retained his grip on the pistol, but his smile faded. He turned back to Ed, his mouth hanging open, eyes wide and uncertain, seemingly at a loss from this simple question. Before Kevin could take advantage of the obvious distraction, Ed slammed both palms on the desk, leaned in menacingly, dropped his voice to a low growl, and whispered, “One.”

They were escorted to an west-facing corner suite on one of the upper floors boasting a king-sized bed, a fully stocked minibar, and a magnificent view over the Gotham skyline. “It’ll do,” Oswald said when they arrived, stepping into a narrow foyer that opened into a luxurious sitting room. As soon as the door was locked behind them, Oswald hopped ahead of Ed to survey his new kingdom, ambling between furnishings to poke his head into every room and closet like a restless bird flitting from perch to perch. He discarded his layers along the way, tossing his jacket over the arm of the couch, his tie on top of a lamp, leaning against a doorframe to unbutton his waistcoat. He disappeared into the bathroom, calling out, “Ed, come see! It has _jets!_ ”

Though he was curious to know what ‘it’ was, Ed lingered at the coffee table, his eye drawn to a collection of current newspapers and magazines. Arkham had denied him many comforts—silence, stimulation, anything resembling intellectual conversation, but most of all, what he hungered for was information. 

“Ed?” came Oswald again, louder this time over the sound of running water in the background. 

“In a minute,” he tossed back. It was all vapid nonsense, of course; Ed couldn’t have cared less about politics, gossip, or—heaven forbid—sports, but the raw glut of words sharpened the hazy edges of his mind. (And maybe he did care, a little, to see whether his favourite pop divas had released any new hits.) He’d only intended to peruse for a moment, but before long, he’d consumed the whole pile, scanning every page and article, gleefully filling in the sudoku squares and crossword puzzles. Before he knew it, he’d completely lost track of time. 

“Ed.”

“Oh,” he startled, pushing up his glasses which had fallen down the bridge of his nose. “ _Oh._ ” When he turned around, Oswald stood behind him in a fluffy white bathrobe, his hair damp and tousled, skin tinged with a warm glow. Freed from the confines of his too tight clothing—likely what he’d worn to his sentencing hearing ten years and several pants-sizes ago—Ed got his first real glimpse of the new Oswald, soft and plump and utterly resplendent. The robe was too long in the sleeves and draped loosely over his shoulders while the sash at his middle dug gently into the pronounced mound of his stomach, contributing to an almost cherubic appearance. Maybe it was the medications dulling his wits, but Ed found himself lost for words. 

“Sorry,” he said at last. “I don’t know what came over me. In Arkham, I didn’t—”

Oswald raised a hand in reassurance. “Don’t worry, I get it. I would have waited, but you seemed preoccupied and I couldn’t stand to spend another moment reeking of Blackgate.” 

“Can’t be worse than disinfectant and adult diapers,” Ed replied wryly.

“Ugh, don’t remind me.” Oswald circled around to flop onto the couch beside Ed, resting his head in his lap. “I’ve heard Arkham isn’t as bad as it used to be, but I never envied you, friend. Not even when they kept me alone in a cell, crying myself to sleep every night.”

“They isolated you, too?” Ed asked with some concern, raking back a stray lock of hair from Oswald’s face. 

“For my own _protection_ , they said!” Oswald wrinkled his nose at the indignity of it, but quickly brightened. “In reality, they were afraid that if they let me out to play with the other boys, they’d soon have organized revolt on their hands. It took my lawyer threatening to sue them before they released me into genpop.” 

Ed let out an involuntary sigh of relief, settling back against the cushions. “Let me guess, you found the biggest, dumbest ogre on the cell block and made promises.” 

Oswald smiled coquettishly. “More or less. And in exchange for keeping the peace and making their jobs easier, the COs let me get away with just about anything… within reason. I took a job managing the kitchen, which, wouldn’t you know it, happens to be the easiest place to smuggle in contraband—drugs, cigarettes, dirty magazines. Within a few months, I had the entire prison under my thumb. I shudder to think how they’ll get by without me.” 

It would have been easy to feel resentment. Once, perhaps, he would have. While Ed was wasting away in Arkham, synapses atrophying by the day, Oswald had not only survived, but _prospered_ in Blackgate. But sitting here with him now, reunited at last, all Ed could process was relief, his heart swelling with pride hearing of Oswald’s accomplishments. “That explains this.” He reached down to cup a handful of Oswald’s ample lovehandle, letting the appreciation show in his smile. “The other inmates got to eat sometimes, I hope?”

If the comment had come from anyone else, Ed had no doubt Oswald would be darting for the nearest blunt instrument. Instead, a brief look of worry crossed Oswald’s face, the same one he’d given him in the limo the first time Ed brought up the matter of his figure. Then he set his jaw, that fierce pride reasserting itself. He stared up at Ed expectantly, as if daring him to remove his hand. 

Ed was far from done making his point. He slid his hand over the expanse of his belly, soft flesh cushioned in downy fabric. Oswald’s haughty facade melted away at the first touch; he pushed himself further into Ed’s lap, raising his arms over his head. Taking that as invitation, Ed stroked and massaged his way up Oswald’s body to the opening of his robe. Oswald’s head lolled back when Ed’s fingers met the bare skin of his chest, eyelashes fluttering as Ed reached down to flirt with his nipples, now perched atop breasts large enough to squeeze. Naturally, Ed couldn’t resist, especially not when every touch brought forth gasps of pleasure. He leaned in closer to savour those reactions, and the next time Oswald opened his eyes, Ed tucked his other arm around his shoulders to ease him up into a kiss. 

Oswald’s lips parted eagerly under his own, moaning gratefully into his mouth like a man dying of thirst at long last blessed with a drop of water. Ungraceful in his desperation, he reached up to clutch at Ed’s rough-shorn hair, dragging him down as Ed supported him over his outstretched legs. When they broke off, Ed was breathing heavily, unable to wipe the smile off his face if he tried. He drank in the sight of his freshly ravished friend and declared, “I missed you, Oswald.”

That admission, understatement though it was, provoked a startling reaction from Oswald. His eyes widened, his smile wavering in a way that could easily give way to tears. Ed knew he’d truly unleashed the floodgates when Oswald sat up and adjusted his position to straddle Ed’s lap, facing him dead-on from a level height. He gripped the shoulders of Ed’s jacket and balled his hands into fists. “I missed you, too, Edward. You have no idea. Every single day for ten years, I… I never stopped thinking of you.”

“I thought of you, too,” said Ed in return. “Often.” Though the words rung painfully inadequate, he hoped the way he folded his arms around him would make up the difference. 

“I wrote you letters,” Oswald confessed. “Hundreds of them, probably. When you never sent any back, I was afraid that…” He drew in a shuddering breath, then lowered his gaze. “You didn’t get any of them, did you?”

Ed shook his head. “I wasn’t allowed paper outside of the weekly fingerpainting sessions. Mail was a no-go.”

“I should have known,” Oswald sighed into Ed’s collar. “I really thought… oh, Ed…” Oswald held him tighter, burying his face in the crook of his neck. Suddenly Ed found himself crushed—not altogether unpleasantly—between the couch cushions and Oswald’s equally well-upholstered body. “I’m so glad you’re okay.” 

“Shhh, it’s alright,” Ed murmured, lightly stroking his back. He nuzzled Oswald’s temple and whispered, “I dwell in the heart, sometimes at great cost. I’m most important to keep when it seems like I’m lost. What am I?” 

Oswald lifted his head, bewildered even as he blinked tears from his eyes. “A riddle? Now?”

“It’s hope,” Ed answered. “The thing that sustained us through our respective ordeals. I’m happy you wrote to me, Oswald, even if I never got a chance to read any of it. To know that you held out hope for me when you could have given up… I appreciate that.” He took a deep breath, willing his guard down. “I still don’t know anything about who orchestrated my escape from Arkham, other than the fact that they were pretending to be you. That wasn’t true, but I believed it. I never questioned it for a second, because somewhere deep down, I’d been holding out hope, too, that you would be the one to come for me.”

Ed never tired of Oswald’s reactions to his riddles, watching his face pass from annoyance, to confusion, to fond adoration in the span of a moment. This one, it seemed, had left him in awe. “Ed, I…” His voice broke, his eyes welling up again. But before he could say anything, a rumble vibrated between them. Ed twitched in surprise, causing Oswald to draw back. He looked down self-consciously, setting a hand over his stomach. “Sorry, it’s been a very long day. I haven’t eaten since this morning.”

Come to think of it, neither had Ed. But now that Oswald had raised the possibility, he realized that he was, in fact, ravenous. “I don’t suppose the hotel offers room service this late.” 

Oswald raised himself from the couch and headed for a desk near the foyer. He opened up a drawer, hauled out a worn copy of the yellow pages and plopped it unceremoniously onto the desk. “I think we can do better than that.” He turned to Ed, raising a provocative eyebrow. “Come on, I know you’ve been living off of mashed peas, mystery meat, and oatmeal for ten years. There has to be something you’re craving more than anything in the world. When you were in Arkham, what would you have given your last shoelace for?”

“American Chinese food,” he stated. “I used to have dreams about egg rolls and pork fried rice.”

“Good choice, good choice…” Oswald muttered, bobbing thoughtfully as he flipped through the pages. “It’s fried chicken or pizza for me. I can’t decide!”

Ed stretched himself over the armrest, leering in Oswald’s direction. “Do we really need to?”

The suggestion had Oswald nearly swooning against the desk. “Oh, I’ve missed you, friend. You and that marvellous brain of yours. Have I told you lately that I love the way you think?” 

They spent the next several minutes combing through the listings in search of some of the old 24-hour takeout restaurants they used to frequent. It proved a more challenging task than expected, Oswald crestfallen to learn that one of his favourite pizza parlours had apparently gone out of business, sulking until Ed suggested an acceptable alternative. Oswald proceeded to make the calls, placing all three orders in exacting detail, smiling over his shoulder at Ed as he instructed the employees at Bamboo Moon to hold the onions for every dish. In keeping with the celebratory spirit, Ed cleared the coffee table to make way for the feast. Oswald, meanwhile, had cracked open the minibar.

When the first knock at the door came, Ed was ready. Brandishing Oswald’s pistol, he edged the door open to greet the delivery boy from the pizza parlour. “You’re well within your twenty-minute delivery guarantee. I applaud your efficiency,” he started cheerfully, then pitched his voice low and commanding, glowering at the boy behind his green-tinted lenses. “Now put the box on the floor and walk away.” 

It wasn’t as if the kid was paid enough to do otherwise. Neither, for that matter, were the other two. 

“Maybe we overshot this,” Ed ventured as he surveyed their bounty. By the time he’d sent all three delivery boys dashing off down the hallway, Oswald had transformed the meagre coffee table into an overflowing banquet. The Chinese takeout boxes were arranged in a circle around the pizza, the box of fried chicken set at the corner closest to Oswald, and at the other, a case of cannoli he’d tossed in on a whim. Strategically placed among the fray were Oswald’s two wine selections, along with glasses and a stack of silk napkins.

“Nonsense!” When Ed sat down, Oswald staked his claim to the chicken, transferring the box from the table to the napkin draped over his lap. “It’s not like we had to pay for it,” he snorted around a bite of drumstick, then sank back against the armrest in flavour-induced rapture.

It _did_ smell good. Ed calculated his approach; his first thought was to take it slow, let his tastebuds acclimatize to the complex play of seasonings, pacing himself so he got to eat at least a little of everything before it got cold. But at the first hit of oil and MSG, something primal kicked in, and before he knew it, he was shovelling beef stir-fry into his mouth with reckless abandon. Every delicious mouthful pushed the memory of Arkham further and further away until he was fully present in the here and now, his world narrowed to the hotel room, Oswald, and the spread of food between them. Stir-fry, wine, followed by dumplings and more wine, then pizza and…

“Top me up?” Ed gestured across the table with his glass to the sweeter of the two vintages. 

“Mn, just a minute…” Oswald was currently occupied sucking chicken grease off his fingers one by one, a slice of pizza waiting in his other hand. When he’d finished, he grabbed the wine bottle and rolled over onto his side to fill Ed’s glass. His robe parted a little at the bottom, offering a tantalizing glimpse of his chubby thighs. In turn, he nudged the box of chicken towards Ed. “Take these away from me. Or wait—“ He eyed a half-empty box of chow mein on Ed’s side of the table—“I’ll trade you.” 

Ed gladly agreed, though he was quickly reaching a point of satiation. He picked away at the last two pieces of fried chicken between restrained sips of wine, prolonging his enjoyment vicariously through Oswald, who showed no signs of slowing down. For such a man of such petite proportions, he sure could pack a lot away. It was one of the first things Ed had learned about him when they first met, all those years ago, when he’d stumbled upon an injured bird in the forest and nursed him back to health. Oswald had nearly eaten him out of house and home, singlehandedly cleaning out his refrigerator while Ed was at work, thrilled when he came home with takeout. For all that Ed abhorred misplaced sentimentality, he could admit to the occasional pang of nostalgia for those days, and seeing Oswald like this—well-fed and content—brought back fond memories. 

By the time Oswald was finished, he’d managed to clear most of the table. Only two slices of pizza and half a container of fried rice remained. He reclined on his side, breathing heavily, a smear of tomato sauce at the corner of his mouth. “You were right, Ed. We did overshoot this."

Ed swirled his wine glass, more than a little buzzed at this point. He beheld the recumbent figure before him, then innocently glanced at the unopened case of cannoli. “You still haven’t touched the dessert.” 

“I… completely forgot I ordered that,” said Oswald in a small voice, simultaneously daunted and intrigued. He gazed longingly across the table, a cradling arm tucked around his stomach, weighing the temptation. He looked to Ed for input, who, for his part, donned a mask of indifference. At last, Oswald heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Fiiiiine, if you insist!” He stuck his arm out through the mess of empty boxes for the dessert case, barely able to graze it with his fingers. “Can you… move it closer? I don’t wanna get up.” 

“How about I do you one better? Shove over.” Ed grabbed the case and relocated to Oswald’s couch. 

Oswald scooted further toward the far corner, folding his legs to make room. Ed opened up the case to reveal four stuffed rolls, slightly soggy after having been left out for so long, but still very edible. He gathered another napkin from the table to pick up a cannolo and offered it to Oswald. 

“Um. Thank you?” A little confused at the gesture, Oswald took the napkin, holding it close to his mouth to keep the custard and ricotta filling from leaking all over. He ate it in two large bites, taking the time to savour it before swallowing. He let out a pained, but satisfied moan. “It’s not as good as Maroni’s, but it’s not bad.”

No sooner than he’d finished the first, Ed presented him with the second one. Oswald regarded the treat, and Ed’s broadening grin, with skepticism. “Aren’t you going to have any?” 

“It’s for you, Mr. Penguin,” said Ed, not realizing the endearment had slipped out until Oswald gasped and brought a hand to his chest in feigned disbelief. 

“Edward Nygma!” he giggled. “You haven’t called me that in years!”

“Did I? Eh heh…” Edward laughed, adjusting his glasses. “Well, we haven’t really seen each other in years.”

Oswald kept on smiling, but he clearly wasn’t buying it. “You know what I mean.” 

Accepting that he’d been caught, Ed hung his head sheepishly. “Sorry, couldn’t help it. Old habits. It’s just…” He placed an affectionate hand on Oswald’s exposed thigh. “It’s so nice to be with you again, Oswald. To know that prison didn’t break you. To see you again in all your glory…” His fingers slipped beneath the hem to gently massage his hip. “Still so proud, so successful…” he whispered, subtly inching the second cannolo closer to his mouth.

“Mn, go on…” Oswald, practically keening at the praise and intimacy, thoughtlessly took a bite of the dessert right out of Ed’s palm. 

“So impressive… and majestic…” Ed carried on, slinking further under Oswald’s robe until he could wedge his hand into the tight junction between his thighs and belly, jiggling the tender underside with intent. 

Oswald tensed under his touch. His mouth was currently full, but it was obvious something had dawned on him when he narrowed his eyes at Ed, chewing pensively. He swallowed, washed it down with a gulp of wine, then, in a deadpan tone, “You like that I’ve put on weight.” 

“Guilty.”

Oswald fixed him with an incredulous look. “And you were buttering me up so I’d eat the rest of this in front of you,” he continued. “Because it… turns you on?” 

“Hmm—yes. And no. Wait.” Ed paused to gather himself, his hand retreating from under Oswald’s robe to rest over the widest part of his stomach. “Look, I said it in the limo and I’ll say it again: you look _good_ , Oswald. More than that, it suits you.” He traced a path with his eyes across the lush slopes of his body, as though Oswald could feel the heat from his gaze. “And everything I said just now? I meant it. You look…” Ed’s voice dropped to a reverent whisper. “Majestic.”

“Y-you really think so?” Oswald eked out, his suspicious nature eroding in the face of Ed’s palpable desire. 

Ed raised himself on one knee so he could lean in to press a kiss to Oswald’s throat. “Exactly the way a king should be. Regal, dignified… a man of good taste and large appetites, who takes what he wants and knows what he deserves—even if that’s the whole city delivered on a silver platter.”

Oswald stole a glance at the remnants of their meal—the empty boxes, pizza crusts, puddles of spilled wine soaking into hastily dropped napkins—and his shoulders buckled in a laugh, sending his softer parts quivering. “I feel about the opposite of dignified right now, Ed.”

“Eh, you’ll grow into it,” Ed quipped. “Besides, penguins are supposed to have blubber.” At that, he kissed the tip of Oswald’s pointy nose, then dug his hands into his sides, groping him until he squealed. 

“Ed…! Ed, stop, that tickles!” he squawked in between peals of laughter. “I can’t, I’m too full, it hurts…” When Ed finally relented, Oswald was curled into a wheezing ball, a cushioning arm wrapped around his poor, abused stomach. 

“Not too full to finish the rest of these, right?” Ed held up the box of cannoli with its two remaining rolls. 

Oswald groaned again, shaking his head automatically. “I really shouldn’t,” he said to Ed, though it sounded more like he was trying to convince himself. His teeth dragged over his bottom lip. “Maybe… maybe if you help me?”

“Say no more.” Ed backed himself into the opposite corner of the couch, giving Oswald enough room to comfortably lounge. In much the same way as earlier, Oswald laid his head in Ed’s lap, his robe loosened around the waist, eyes sparkling with desire. With customary fastidiousness, Ed secured a napkin around one end of the messy pastry and offered it before Oswald’s waiting mouth. He took smaller bites than before, so close he was to hitting his limit. To encourage him, Ed rubbed his other hand over his belly in slow circles. Oswald let out a gratified exhale, working up the energy to lap up the overflow of filling from Ed’s fingers. The massage grew more sensual, which had as much to do with Ed’s steadily building arousal as it did with Oswald’s wellbeing; the sensation of all that smooth, pliable flesh yielding beneath him sent sparks from his fingertips right through to his groin. He couldn’t resist delving lower to where the swell of his belly folded over his hips, his formerly soothing caresses escalating into something more carnal. 

Oswald gave a sharp gasp at the touch, arching into his hand. He’d always been quick to react to Ed’s ministrations—the first few times they’d been together, he’d finished after only a few tentative strokes over clothing—so Ed kept things purposefully light and teasing, tracing the outline of his cock through the folds of his bathrobe. Nevertheless, Oswald cried out, reeling at the first jolt of pleasure. To silence him, Ed pushed the last decadent mouthful past his lips. 

“Please, no more, I can’t…” Oswald protested after he swallowed and Ed momentarily withdrew from between his legs to prepare the fourth and final dessert. 

“Are you sure?” Ed asked, dabbing the unwrapped end of the roll against his lips, enticing them to open. Oswald defiantly turned his head to one side, leaving a smudge of custard on his cheek. “What about if I…?” Ed reached down again, this time shifting his robe aside to grasp his erection and deliver a few short pumps. 

Oswald writhed against the cushions, rolling his hips like he hadn’t been touched in years. (Maybe he hadn’t, reflected the sober part of Ed, unable to decide how he felt about that.) Sated though he professed to be, it seemed that his appetite had merely moved on to other things. Ed took advantage of that, lightening his grip after working him up to full hardness. “Come on,” he coaxed, offering the pastry again. “If you want more, you have to finish this.” Oswald whined pitifully, but did as he asked. At Ed’s borderline sadistic incentive, he tilted his head up and tore into the last cannolo with gusto. Far past the point of pleasure or comfort, he took it all down to the last crumb. 

Immediately afterwards, Ed gathered him into his arms for a kiss. Wine, custard, sugar—Ed could taste the fruits of his handiwork on Oswald’s tongue, and underneath it all, ten years worth of pent up passion and yearning. Oswald crushed his mouth against Ed’s with enough force to push him back into the cushions, crawling into his lap to feel Ed’s own erection straining against his pants. 

Ed’s head was swimming by the time they stopped for breath. The impact of… whatever had just transpired between them—what he’d done, what Oswald had _let_ him do—settled in all at once. He kissed the last traces of custard from Oswald’s cheeks, then leaned in close to whisper, “Bed?”

“Bed,” Oswald agreed. 

Between the heavy meal and the alcohol, Oswald was more uncoordinated than usual. Ed offered a shoulder when levering him off the couch which he gratefully took, swaying against him as they made their way to the bedroom. The promised king-sized bed was a welcome sight. Clean sheets stretched tight over a thick mattress and topped with a meticulously arranged mantle of pillows and comforters—that was until Oswald launched himself into it, rolling happily around the mass of quilts. After years crumpled into a glorified cot too short for him to stretch his legs, Ed wanted nothing more than to jump in after him, but unlike Oswald, he was still fully clothed. Ed stopped to unbuckle his belt and step out of his pants, folding them neatly atop a nearby chair. He loosened the knot of his question-mark printed tie, pausing to admire the craftsmanship. He had to hand it to his kidnappers—they certainly nailed his aesthetic.

“Hurry up, Ed…” Oswald drunkenly beckoned him from the bed. 

Ed tsked under his breath, purposefully taking even more time to fiddle with his cufflinks. “I grow longer with your interest, but am easily spent. I’m rewarded the longer I last. Children don’t have me, but you need me to be a parent. What am I?”

Oswald stifled what sounded like a scream against a pillow, but he knew well enough by now that he wouldn’t get what he wanted until he at least made an attempt. He batted his lashes at Ed, comically offsetting his barely contained frustration. “How about you stop _talking_ about it and bring it over here?”

“Wow, somebody’s got a one-track mind,” Ed replied. “It’s _patience_ , Oswald, and if you ask me, you could use some.” 

Stripped down to his shirt and briefs, Ed chose that moment to lunge upon Oswald, pinning him to the blankets to pepper kisses down his throat. Oswald laughed at first, tossing his head back, inky black hair strewn in a halo over the white covers. Those giggles soon gave way to strained cries of pleasure as Ed began to suck at the skin of his neck, kissing him until red marks bloomed against his pale skin. Unable to resist, he dipped his head lower to mouth along what used to be the jutting ridge of Oswald’s collarbones, reduced to shallow grooves under a layer of flesh. 

Oswald’s hands went to the top buttons of Ed’s shirt, managing to undo a few before Ed gently stopped him. “Before we do this, there’s something I need to know,” he panted.

“What now…?” Oswald whined, tugging at his collar. 

“How much do you currently weigh? Do you have an exact figure?” 

“Ed!” he gasped, his face florid, shoulders twitching. He relaxed only when Ed nudged his erection against his thigh—at once an enticement and hard, throbbing reassurance of how much he was wanted. “Honestly, I try not to think about the numbers.”

“But I _like_ numbers,” Ed crooned against his bare shoulder. 

“Ugh, I don’t really…” Oswald hesitated, though whether it was from embarrassment or simply the cruel demand that he be required to think with Ed’s cock between his thighs, Ed couldn’t tell. “The last time I was in the infirmary—after some fool tried to _stab_ me, thank you for your concern—I think the scale said… 240? But that was over a year ago.”

_240_. Possibly more than that. It didn’t sound like much. Wouldn’t have been, on other men. Ed’s mind drifted to his stint in the Narrows, announcing hulking neanderthals even heavier than that who wore their extra weight like a suit of armour, shielding them from toppling blows. But Oswald, of diminutive stature and a delicate build still visible under all that padding, looked round and soft as butter. Ed couldn’t wait another moment to undress him, to discover, up close and personal, where all that weight had settled. 

Newly emboldened, Ed untied the sash of Oswald’s robe to glimpse him in his entirety—and what a vision he made. As Ed had expected, the majority of his weight was concentrated around his middle in two thick rolls that shifted and tumbled as he moved. But his whole body had filled out to match, his chest softened into two mounds perfectly fit for Ed’s hands, the sharp angles of his limbs now rounded out, and his thighs and backside… _oh_. His cock jumped in his briefs and suddenly he felt the overwhelming need to be out of them, to be as naked as Oswald, pressed skin to skin. 

Oswald tracked his gaze uncertainly. Ed sensed that something was called for, some expected reaction. After all the praise he’d lavished on him earlier, the words shouldn’t have caught in his throat, but somehow seeing him like this, there was only one thing on his mind. “Oswald… you’re gorgeous.”

“You really think so,” said Oswald, an echo of his question from earlier, more certain this time. He hung his head, lips curved in one last chagrined smile, then focused squarely on Ed, insecurity replaced by that deep-rooted confidence that had captivated Ed the first day they met. “Then stop gawking and show me.”

Without another word, Ed sat up to unbutton the rest of his shirt and shimmy out of his briefs. Then he picked up where he’d left off. As his lips and tongue travelled from Oswald’s shoulders down to his chest, he returned his attention to Oswald’s cock, stroking him in earnest. He swirled his tongue around one nipple until he felt it stiffen, then applied the same treatment to the other. Oswald spread his legs wider, shamelessly revelling in pleasure as if it were something owed to him, like he need only lay back and offer himself up to be adored. He was vocal in his appreciation, rewarding Ed with wanton moans as he reacquainted himself with all of his most sensitive regions—his nipples, his ribs, his soft, quivering belly. He continued until he’d worked up Oswald into a simpering wreck, his cock leaking precome that pooled between Ed’s fingers. He released his grip on Oswald’s cock, using some of that moisture to venture lower, extending two slick fingers to encircle his rim. Oswald lifted his hips as if to skewer himself around Ed’s fingers. “Please, Ed…” he whimpered. “Right now. Fuck me.”

Ed was only too happy to oblige, but he wasn’t about to give him what he needed without asking something in return. He turned around and crawled up to the head of the bed, reclining at an angle over the pillows with his long legs spread, cock standing up straight between them. He patted his thighs. “I want you on top of me.” 

“Are.. are you joking?!” Oswald scoffed in exasperation. “Ed, I just ate enough to feed an army. I feel like I might throw up, and… aren’t you afraid I’ll crush you?”

“Actually, it would take roughly 400 pounds of sustained pressure to risk serious physical injury for an ordinary adult human. You’re only a little over half that.” _Yet_ , his mind supplied, along with the uncomfortable realization that he wouldn’t mind testing that hypothesis in this context. He banished the thought, concentrating on his already generously proportioned lover who was in the midst of awkwardly straddling his hips. While Oswald sought out a comfortable position, Ed stretched as far as he could reach to pull out the drawer of the nightstand, fumbling blindly until he found what he was looking for—a package of condoms and a little tear-open packet of lubricant. He passed the packet to Oswald while he opened a condom and unrolled it down his considerable length. Though he was reasonably certain by now that Oswald had been as chaste in prison as Ed was in Arkham, now was probably not the best time to ask. If Oswald was offended by the precaution, he didn’t show it, eagerly coating both himself and Ed’s covered erection. 

Oswald mounted him, slowly lowering himself onto Ed’s cock inch by inch. The abundance of lubricant eased the process, but still, he clenched his teeth, breathing heavily through his nose. Sinking into that welcoming tightness after so long, Ed had to tangle his fists in the sheets to restrain himself until Oswald was properly settled. “Is this alright?” Oswald experimentally rested some of his weight on Ed’s pelvis. 

“Fine and dandy,” Ed replied with a jerk of his hips. Then Oswald began to move and Ed had to choke back a moan. Those soft hips filled his lap, rocking against him, enveloping him down to the hilt with every rise and fall of his thighs. They fell into a rhythm, Oswald bearing down on him as Ed canted up, seeking the optimum angle. Ed knew he’d found it when Oswald reared up stock still and his mouth went slack in an expression of pure bliss. Ed braced his hands at Oswald’s hips, holding him in place so he could drive against that sweet spot over and over again until he had Oswald grinding desperately atop him, Ed’s name falling from his lips.

Ed’s current vantage point offered the most glorious view of Oswald yet. This close, he could make out the branching web of stretchmarks coursing up his belly and thighs. They contrasted more against his pale skin than the scars he’d accumulated throughout his seasoned career. He could see those, too, of course, having committed the terrain of Oswald’s body to memory before they were arrested. He wondered if he’d acquired any new ones since. As Ed mapped the territory of Oswald’s hips to his waist, he noticed it—a faint patch of raised tissue just below his sternum. That time could fade such a wound to barely more than a blemish… Ed laid his palm over the mark, comforted by the rapid but steady heartbeat he could feel beneath. 

Overcome by a sudden need to hold him, Ed wrapped his arms around Oswald and claimed his lips again. Ed flopped back onto the pillows, landing with Oswald overtop him without breaking their embrace. He felt his still-hard cock slide out of him, but that was alright because Oswald looked to be tiring anyway, his skin coated in a sheen of perspiration. When Ed drew back, the room was cast in a blurry soft focus; the heat of their bodies had fogged up his glasses. He took them off, folding them carefully and setting them on the nightstand. They were close enough now that Ed could see every detail. He stared into Oswald’s eyes—glossed over with lust, but bright and warm and alive—and for the first time tonight, Ed was able to appreciate them in all their mismatched beauty, free from unwelcome visions of blood spilling down his face. 

“Why’d you stop, Ed?” Oswald whispered against his lips. “I’m so close… I want to come with you inside me, please…” 

“Anything for you.”

With that, he swung a leg over Oswald’s back, flipping them over to reverse their current position. Kneeling over Oswald once more, he snatched up one of the pillows from the pile and stuffed it under Oswald’s hips, propping him up at a slant for easier, and deeper penetration. He aligned himself between Oswald’s thighs—a tighter fit than it once was—prompting him to spread them wider. Mindful of his leg, Ed monitored Oswald’s face for signs of pain as he hitched up both limbs over his own broad shoulders, then pushed in. 

_Anything for you_. Those words and all that lay behind them clawed at something deep in Ed, exposed that bedrock of devotion buried beneath a sediment of blood and betrayal. They were in dangerous territory now, had been for a while—the looks, the endearments, the little courtesies. A reminder that there was still a declaration of love to be answered for, ten years overdue.

Once upon a time, Ed had convinced himself that Oswald’s relationships fell into the categories of either convenience or need. Ed had no interest in serving as one of his henchmen, nor did he wish to assume a place among Oswald’s pantheon of cherished idols, to be set upon their pedestals and preserved—whether in stone or ice—so they could never hurt or betray him. It was the core of his pathology, the howling void inside of him that could never be fully sated except by destroying all that he was and rebuilding him from the ground up. It would be so easy, so natural, to plunge back into that vortex, but was it possible to love him without being consumed? 

The riddle he’d been trying to answer for the last ten years and was still no closer to solving. The only thing he knew for certain, the one fact he kept coming back to was… there was no Edward Nygma without Oswald Cobblepot. To say nothing of all the times he’d literally saved his life, Oswald was the hinge around which the fractured halves of his psyche coalesced, the man who’d shown him how to truly _become_ what he was. For that alone, he owed Oswald everything. 

Carried away in his own pleasure, a mangled cry lifted Ed from his thoughts. Oswald latched his ankles around Ed’s neck, dragging him in as deep as he could possibly go as his body began to clench around him and… oh. He watched, transfixed, as Oswald’s features twisted up and then abruptly softened, and it was that sight that drew out his own orgasm in wrenching spasms. Ed’s arms trembled, nearly dropping out from under him as he came. Raw and sensitive, he lowered himself onto his elbows to rest his head on Oswald’s chest until the tremors subsided. 

Once his breathing evened out, he glanced up to check on Oswald, noticing a shine of wetness on his cheeks. Ed’s heart skipped a beat before remembering it was just the intensity, nothing more. Or so Oswald had assured him after their first time together at Ed’s old hideout in the Narrows, laughing and crying simultaneously at Ed’s attempts to comfort him through a mouth full of gauze. The memory of those days had sustained Ed through some of his loneliest nights in Arkham, and even now, it brought a smile to his face. He didn’t pull out right away, instead lingering to kiss the tear-trails from his cheeks and murmur quiet affections. 

“Ed, I…” Oswald exhaled, a fresh wash of tears threatening to break. “I can’t believe this is real. You’re really here with me. This feels like a dream.”

“Does _this_ feel like a dream?” Ed playfully pinched his side, then planted another kiss to his lips. “It’s real, Oswald. We’re free. We’re both free.”

Until the last of Oswald’s tears had dried, they lay entangled in the sheets together, basking in the afterglow. Oswald with his arms around Ed's shoulders, and Ed with his cheek pressed to Oswald’s chest. Eventually, Ed rolled off him, about to make his way to the ensuite to wash up and dispose of the condom. “Be right back,” he said, but Oswald grabbed his hand. 

"Ed." Oswald gazed up at him with a strange intensity that broke through the post-coital languor. “When they arrested me, do you know what the charges were?” 

Ed shook his head. “I was already locked up while you were going through the court proceedings.”

“Fencing, money laundering, illegal weapons manufacture, and… tax evasion,” he listed off. 

“That’s pretty light, considering—“

Oswald lifted a hand, clearly not finished. “My point is that I know for a fact that the police could have pegged me for a lot worse. If they’d wanted to press charges for murder, well… I can think of a few occasions.” 

Ed blinked, uncomprehending before realization dawned. He squeezed Oswald’s hand tighter. 

“Sometimes I still have nightmares about what happened to me in Arkham,” he continued softly. “But if they’d charged me with a crime that warranted it, I would have confessed to everything, pleaded insanity, _begged_ for Arkham if it meant I got to stay with you. But they didn’t. Do you know what that means?” 

Oswald’s somber expression started to crack at the edges, replaced by a devious grin. 

“They kept us apart on purpose, Ed. They know what we are to each other, and they _tremble_ to think of what we could be together.”

A wicked thrill ran down Ed’s spine at the thought. It was an intriguing prospect, but Ed recognized it for what it was—a proposition. And Ed couldn't deny that there was a part of him that ached to say ‘yes’. With a force like the Riddler by his side, Oswald could easily become the most powerful man in Gotham. And with the resources of the Penguin at his back, Ed could wreak havoc like the world had never seen. A cruel irony it was, then, that two of Gotham’s most brilliant criminal minds could never abide sharing a spotlight. 

In lieu of an answer, Ed merely smiled and squeezed his hand, leaving him with a peck on the cheek. By the time he got back from the bathroom, Oswald was curled up like a little pillbug under the covers, already fast asleep. 

————————

Ed awoke to a pounding headache. As light crept in through the curtains of the hotel bedroom, Ed remembered that not only had he taken a blow to the head courtesy of Selina Kyle, but had stayed up drinking with Oswald well into the night. _Oswald_ … They’d fallen asleep in each other’s arms, but Ed registered no presence beside him in the king-sized bed. He groaned, instinctively groping for his glasses on the nightstand.

As the world suddenly became clearer, he made out the form of Oswald seated at the foot of the bed, fully dressed, one foot hiked into his lap to tie his shoe. “Good morning, Edward!”

“Huh? What… are you doing? What time is it?” Ed sat up, threw off the covers, and rubbed at his temples. 

“Bright and early,” Oswald chirped. “Why, I think that might be the best sleep I’ve had in years.” Finished with his shoe, he stood up straight, a definite spring in his step. “My lawyer called to say that my chariot has arrived. She’s waiting in the lobby, so unfortunately, I must be on my way.”

Ed grumbled under his breath, unable to fathom how Oswald could be so… peppy after last night. It was one thing that the man had the alcohol tolerance of a Russian rhinoceros, but judging by the quality of light outside, he couldn’t have gotten more than four hours of sleep. Right as he was about to swing his legs out of bed, he was struck from his groggy stupor by the sound of approaching sirens. 

Oswald went to peer out the window, umbrella in tow. Clad in only his briefs, Ed bounded to his feet to see what he was looking at. As he feared, a fleet of police cars were converging on their location, blocking the whole street in front of the Gotham Royal. “Oh dear,” he said. 

“Unless Jim Gordon decided to tattle on me, I’d guess they’re here for you,” Oswald helpfully remarked. 

“You think I don’t know that?” Ed scrambled back to the chair where he’d left his clothes, tugging his pants halfway up before realizing they were on backwards. He snarled in frustration, twisting and tugging until he’d managed to get them on properly. 

Oswald didn't look particularly worried, regarding Ed's struggle with a placid sort of amusement. “If you like, I can keep them busy out front while you take the stairs down to the back entrance.”

Ed looked up from buttoning his shirt. “Will you be alright?”

“Don’t you worry about me, old friend,” Oswald assured him, making his way to the door. “I’m a free man, after all, and even the police can’t deny that I served my time. Besides, my lawyer’s already here, and trust me, she can be a real bitch,” he added. 

Marginally reassured now that they had a plan in place, Ed finished getting dressed—his tie hanging out of his pocket, his hat askew—and ran out after Oswald. He met him in the foyer of their suite and they left together, the hallway thankfully empty of cops. Ed knew he should make a break for the stairs, but instead, he stood with Oswald in front of the elevator, waiting until the last moment to say goodbye. “Here.” Oswald took out his pocket pistol and tucked it into Ed’s grip. “You need this more than I do. There should be a couple bullets left.” 

Ed smirked. “You just don’t want to be caught with it.” 

Oswald’s grin broadened. The elevator chimed. 

“By the way.” Oswald stepped backward into the elevator, leaning one arm against the door to prevent it from closing. “Once I’ve reasserted my control over the underworld and consolidated my holdings—shouldn’t take more than a few weeks—I plan to reopen the Iceberg Lounge. I’ll send you an invitation.”

“I… don’t know where I’ll be in a few weeks,” Ed stammered. 

Oswald took a step back, cackling as the door closed, “I’ll find you, Edward Nygma. I always do.”

**Author's Note:**

> I've got more art on my Twitter both of the sfw and nsfw variety! (https://twitter.com/haldora6)


End file.
